Flashpoint
by KogaBlack
Summary: Mark Black was never really a hero, or an agent of Overwatch. He was only there long enough to be an intern at best. Sure he had the skills, the powers, and the drive, but where did that get him when they deemed OW illegal? It got him a poor construction job and an ugly apartment, at least until recall caught up to him...
1. Prologue

Overwatch Flashpoint

 _ **So I fell into Overwatch hell recently, and came up with a new character with his own origin lore. Couldn't help but get hyped enough to write a new story. So here it is, enjoy!**_

 _ **Overwatch and its cast of character belong to Blizzard.**_

 _ **Mark Black, and Flashpoint belong to the loser writing this**_

 **Prologue**

 **9 Years ago, Canadian and U.S joint Project FLASHPOINT secret compound.**

 **Then...**

It hurt. Oh god, it hurt. Liquid pain seared through 18 year old Mark Black, eyes shut tight enough that his eyelids threatened to tear off, teeth bared, and fingernails carving crescent shaped cuts into his palms from the fists he was making. His whole body consistently shook violently, trying in vain to escape the utter torture it was enduring. Tears, sweat, and blood coated Marks face, and likely his whole body under his bleached white uniform. It felt like his skin was tearing off, his muscles tightening to the point of ripping, tendons snapping, blood boiling, and vital organs melting completely. Hours passed like this, or maybe it was only a few seconds? The poor boy couldn't tell, but honestly aside from the horrid pain the only thing on his mind was the fact that 76 others have died, strapped and restrained to the same cold uncomfortable chair as him.

"Mark? Yo Marky, fuck face, god damn it. Sev!"

A head of messy jet black hair lifted itself from the book it had been sleeping on, annoyed eyebrows raised above its mud brown eyes. Mark Koga Black had gained the nickname "Seven" or just "Sev" around the FLASHPOINT facility, only because he happened to be the 77 accepted applicant. Mark hated it, but it stuck none the less. He sighed and smiled anyway, looking up to the rugged face of Aiden Berk. He was clean shaven, as a set rule they all were, and had a buzz cut of blonde festering on his scalp. Stock blue eyes were alive with excitement, not something the average FLASHPOINT guinea pig would be overly enjoyed to see given Aidens mischievous streak. Mark didn't mind much, Aiden was the only human being in the cold bland white walled compound that he actually got along with, all the others were either too military or too old to appreciate Marks optimistic and happy personality. "Yo" Mark said sleepily, messaging his eyes with twin lazy palms.

"You need to sleep more dude, it shows. The hell are you reading anyways?" The blonde tilted his whole upper torso to get a better look.

"I'm an insomniac, not easy to sleep on my own terms." Mark explained how he would to a child, even adding in a shrug. "It's a book about "Time Radiation" and other fun facts." When Aiden gave him a slow nod Mark rolled his eyes with a grin. "Y'know, the stuff they'll be pumping us full of in the experiment? Same stuff the brits are using in the slipstream."

"Oh, that stuff. Ah heck, why worry 'bout that anyways?" He said, striking a sore spot for Mark, who was slightly nervous about it all.

"It's good to at least have a decent understanding of something like this if you're volunteering up for free doses, and you Americans aren't too big on safety." The Japanese Canadian joked lightly. Aiden only scoffed and turned, throwing his arms up in defeat as he left the forum they had been residing in. Mark took a look around the large circular room, empty folding tables stood in perfect rows, a lone janitor swept in the far reaches, no windows, only bright LED lights along the ceiling. Mark checked the simple watch on his left wrist, which to no surprise stated that it was late. A flinch later and the young adult had scooped up his large book, shuffling quickly to his college dorm like room. The soft scent of mint wafted through the room, which could be blamed by the small plant Mark had been growing on his desk ever since he arrived. The smell calmed him as he collapsed on his bed, rolling onto his back and resting his hands on his chest, staring idly at the ceiling. Tomorrow they start the first wave of human trails. Tomorrow, unknown to the boy, they all die.

76 others had been in the chair before him. Mark being the last on the list of 77. The white labcoats assured him it would all be fine and that the others were fine, everything was fine, their faces hidden by thick grotesque masks. Mark didn't trust them, he could smell the death that their masks filtered, the burnt meat type smell stabbed his nostrils and almost made him gag, it took everything in him not to. The actual machine was like a giant metal egg, designed to fly through a circular track until it gained enough radiated power to "skip" through time and space, essentially instantaneous travel. It was a wild and dangerous leap, made in desperation to out do the British. Mark swallowed the knot forming in his throat, pulling at the collar of his white pilot uniform, the material thick and heavy. Five lab coats, it took five to strap him securely into the chair of the machine, a sixth scientist holding a oversized clipboard, jotting down notes. Marks eyes widened when he spied the distinct red of blood on the white papers. His voice caught in his throat as they lowered the door, the security gate, the blast door, the last thing he ever saw was the clip board wielding scientist hit a series of buttons from his safety behind the control desk, and then Mark Blacks world went white.

At first there was nothing but a tingling numbness as the machine shot down its destined path, as if his entire body went to sleep. Then came the pain, burrowing deep inside his skull and spreading into the rest of him like a disease. After that came the point where the pain got to the extent where he couldn't even think a coherent thought, all he knew was hurting and being hurt. Finally, like a gift from god himself, Mark died.

Or so he thought.

Mark suddenly became conscious, it felt like a deaf person hearing for the first time. Mark tried opening his eyes, only to find that they were open when he lifted a hand to touch them. Short, fast breaths of hot air escaped his lunges, becoming short lived clouds in the inky black that surrounded him like a blanket. It wasn't dark, Mark could see his own body perfectly lit in every direction, it was as if there just wasn't anything here. Anything but him. His breaths became quicker, tears threatening to spill from his brown eyes as he continued to floated inside the void. It was cold, but Mark never shivered, never hungered, thirsted or tired. It was hell to him. He tried to tell time by counting the seconds, but he lost track after 3 days, 23 hours, 43 minutes, and 13 seconds. The young man eventually noticed that at some point he had grown a wild beard, and his hair was even longer than it had been, it perplexed him to no end. Something had changed, and even it was just hair, it was a strand of hope he grasped onto with eager hands. Mark closed his eyes and laughed, he was getting excited over fucking growing hair, the black void had finally gotten to him.

When Mark opened his eyes to find himself back inside the chair of the FLASHPOINT, the jarring change knocked the breath right out of him. The door hissed open and he spilled out, wheezing in shock, he crawled off the tracks and onto the main floor, struggling not to curl into a ball and cry. The puke white tiled floor was frozen cold, actually causing Mark to shiver, a sensation he savoured with dumbfounded smile and a whispering laugh, his voice weak from non use. He rolled from his side to his stomach, pushing onto his hands and knees, somehow his muscles not deteriorated from his lack of exercise. Stumbling to his feet, he took his first shaky step, and then another, a third, forth, all the way until he made it to the doors, throwing them open with renewed vigour. The control room was the same white as every other, but contained several black computers, most of then against the windows viewing the device. Mark didn't hesitate to boot up the dusty machine, waving his hand in front of his face when a cloud of dirt flew up comically. When Mark saw the date his heart sank, somehow between the test and now 4 years had passed. The now 22 year old Mark sighed, and then smiled, worse things could have happened. He was free and safe now, and horribly curious about everything. Finding the important files were easy, they left everything in the open. A written report and several videos, Mark hit up the videos first, and it played out smoothy from the point of view of the security camera.76 times he watched the metal craft pull up to the platform and a bloody skeleton spill out from the hatch, he gagged and looked away, buying courage to watch his.

30 seconds, that's all it took for the egg shaped machine to start smoking, and for electricity to start hammering at the outer hull. When the fried metal ball came back to start, failing to "skip" they opened the door to find it full of black smoke, and nothing else. Mark cursed under his breath, replaying the video trying to find the point where he disappeared, unfortunately the video didn't have a slow motion setting so Mark was stuck watching the same speedy disaster. He focused and played it again, and again, until the video did slow. It became annoyingly hard to watch, causing Mark to glance around, suddenly aware that it slowed on his mental comment. Struck with an odd idea he grabbed a nearby pencil and threw it, the orange tool hanging in the air, spinning slowly. Mark gasped like an excited child, and his perception of time reverted to normal, the pencil flying into the far wall. Mark ran through the compound, heading to his room with a smile, they had left all the rooms the same, for a reason he didn't bother thinking of. Every staff member was forced to leave, the experiment called off when a British pilot also disappeared, leaving the site abandoned. The time displaced man gathered his clothes into a black bag, trying not to frown at his long dead plant. A few minutes later and the time displaced traveller was knee deep into the parking lot, searching for a vehicle among the bare concrete space. Most of the cars that had been there left with the evac, leaving Mark with little to no options. Grudgingly he took to the road on foot, having to clear 50km to reach the nearest city. First day back and it was already a long one, and Mark greeted it with a smile.

It took him fucking forever to get into town. Except, forever wasn't that long, The silence on the trip was always interrupted by the shuffling of his shoes against the dirt road. He enjoyed the difference of noise when the ground turned to neglected concrete, each new noise something he tried to remember from before the mishap. The small quiet lazy town was a welcome sight, and if any of the residents happened to look out their windows, they'd see a 22 year old goof running through the streets with the biggest smile the community had ever seen. First thing Mark did was get a hair cut, fortunately for him nobody touched his wallet, leaving him with cash to blow. 4 years of hair cut and one hell of a beard trimmed short later, Mark smiled looking into a mirror. His hair wasn't long, but it wasn't short, in the perfect length to pull off the naturally spiky look, and Mark was not parting with the facial hair. It took him forever to grow it and it'd take short of god to make him rid his 'stache and beard. The second thing he did? Get the fuck out of dodge via shuttle bus. Mark fell asleep during the whole ride, something he was slightly thankful for, only slightly, having been told he talks in his sleep by and elderly man. The city he had arrived in was bursting with life, and metal towers scraping the navy inky sky, night invading the land. Neon signs and powerful lights burst through the coming dark, almost blinding Mark with their brilliance. A cheap hotel was claimed afterwards, Mark collapsing onto the mattress with a relaxed sigh. He had his whole life ahead of him and he wasn't going to miss a single opportunity.

Mark would later join the peace keeping group Overwatch under the name Flashpoint, but is it really joining if the group is deemed illegal activity a week after they accept your application? Mark ended up on the shit end of the stick, handed a large stack of papers basically stating that if he even so much as lifted a finger to help someone he'd be shipped off the military prison faster than a speeding bullet. The unfortunate young man spent a while in a depression, his hopes and dreams dashed. But life must go on, Mark told himself, grabbing a job with the local construction crew, and renting out a shitty apartment. Sometimes he can barely afford the rent of the 3 room apartment, food was inconsistent, Mark doing his best to eat as healthy as he could. This became his normal for the next 5 years, but as the born optimist he was, he made the best of it.

 **Marks cramped 1 bedroom apartment, 3rd floor.**

 **Now...**

 _ **8:00AM Alarm, now playing "Bohemian Rhapsody" By Queen.**_

Mark rolled off the bed, landing on the floor with a grunt, from his position he flailed blindly for the damned black box blaring his wake up alarm loudly. Finally the tired 27 year old pulled himself upright, using his bed as a support, and turned off his alarm with a soft click. A rough hand ran itself through his hair as he blinked a couple times, resorting to rubbing his eyelid with his palms to wake himself up. Mark was only clad in a simple black t-shirt and a pair of loose PJ pants, a printed design of Cookie Monster from Sesame Street on them. He rolled his shoulder as he left his tiny bedroom, only fitting a bed and dresser, and b-lined to the kitchen, which also happened to be apart of the living room. The freshly woken adult poured himself a glass of water directly from the sink, draining the cheap plastic cup hastily in large gulps. Unfortunately someone forgot to buy coffee for his severely outdated coffee machine, now that someone was paying the price. Mark sighed and made his way to the bathroom, the only room in the house that wasn't half bad, it was a light blue with a marble counter top, where a mint plant was steadily growing.

"S'up Steve." Mark grumbled, tearing off a couple leaves to chew as he readied a shower. Steve didn't respond, as he was both a plant and mad about the fact that Mark mutilates and eats him. Not to say Mark didn't take good care of his only plant, he cared for it with enthusiasm, it was the only thing keeping the place smelling nice. Hot water burned at Marks back as he slicked back his hair with shampoo, his left arm swimming with the vibrant colours of his tattoo. Hues of purples, blues, reds and whites swirled around his entire arm, painting a mural of space from Shoulder to wrist. A lone astronaut in an old white space suit drifted lost on Marks bicep, and a pocket watch was stained into Marks under forearm, it's hands missing, making time telling impossible. Mark finished his shower by washing out the conditioner and setting the water to cold, gritting his teeth as he froze in the savage attempt to wake up. It worked at least, leaving Mark shivering as he dried up and got dressed in socks, black jeans, a black tank top, and a red plaid shirt that he left unbuttoned. After saying goodbye to the plant, Mark quickly ate a granola bar for breakfast, brushed his well kept white teeth, and threw on his shoes, leaving before the clock struck 9:30. Work didn't start until 10:00, but Mark always had it bad with traffic, it didn't help that his car was so old that it still had tires. Lady luck smiled on the adult male, as was traffic almost non-existent, leaving Mark in an excellent mood. Maybe he'd even get that raise that had been eluding him forever. With his master driving skills, Mark made it to the clearly unfinished construction sight in record time. Bland grey concrete surrounded by rusted red scaffolding filled his vision after he unlocked the tall intimidating barbed wire fencing. It only took a second to sign in and see that he was the only one there currently, causing Mark to shrug, he got paid by the hour to carry shit and build, not question the work ethic of his older, usually drunk co-workers. Mark fought with a yawn for a brief second, managing to fight the urge down, his body trying to tell him that today was going to be another long and boring day, just like any other day spent grinding out for money. Mark black was obviously wrong when a small series of explosives went off somewhere in the build site, long? Yes, boring? By the sounds of the Australian accented laughter, probably far from it.

 _ **Thanks for reading! I have chapter 2 already written, I'll upload that in a while, meanwhile I'll see if I can finish my other projects. Heads up that I have been on vacation, so that's why I haven't uploaded in a whole while, sorry about that.**_


	2. Chapter 1

Flashpoint chapter 1

 _ **Welcome back to the Flashpoint series, thank you for taking the time to read all this, it means a lot. I'm going to finish my other projects before I start chapter 3, but with my high excitement for this, it shouldn't take me too long!**_

 **Construction site, currently under attack.**

 **Skirmish**

The explosion rattled Mark from his current task, the clipboard clattered onto the floor, his hands left holding its phantom. Laughter ran through the site, loud and wild, as smaller explosions went off with muted sound. Mark blinked, focusing his breathing to steady itself as he left the office building, jogging towards the commotion with careful cation. Sure enough in the centre of all the unfinished work stood several people, bullets dancing the spaces between them. One man, with fire in his hair and a grenade launcher in his hand was laughing loudly as flashes of fire erupted around him. The other beside him was a hulking beast of a man, a gas mask over his face. The other people were dressed in the same black mercenary armour, white masks marking their heads with vibrancy. They were all firing on a small group of mismatch coloured individuals, whom Mark immediately named Grandpa Plasma rifle, Monkey business, and green cyborg ninja dude. Of course he figured that this was a new form of Overwatch, two of the three members were easily identifiable as Winston and Genji, hero celebrities. A bullet buried itself into the cement wall Mark was peeking out from behind , causing his to snap back to reality and pull back into cover, pressing against the rough wall. He needed to get to his car, Mark never got out of the habit to carry extra security in the back trunk, the illegal assault rifle in the secret compartment under the tool box proved that. When he read that someone was going around killing old Overwatch agents, he started carrying his retired rifle for protection. Now was a perfect time for it, if he could get to it at least.

Mark stealthily navigated the sharp corners and alleys of the concrete maze, in the end it would be a shopping mall, or a meeting place for government officials, Mark didn't know. His Boss, an older gruff man by the name of Mc'Dougal didn't mind keeping employees out of the loop, hell, he also didn't mind not paying them much either. Speaking of an employee not being paid enough, Mark slowed down from his running pace, it seemed like more mercs were on route to the battle, making it harder to navigate without getting shot, gun fire already becoming a constant in his day.

Mark made it half way before his plans got fucked up. The 27 year old was jogging down one of the more finished large corridors when a blue streak dashed past the end of it, and 26 year old Lena Oxton appeared. A large smile was cut into her face, and the goggles didn't do so much to hide her eyes, which were scanning the the top of the walls, many of which didn't have roofs yet. Mark stopped mid step, outside her peripheral vision, shocked. She was Tracer, and had been in the news a lot now lately, because of the fact that she was involved the night of Mondattas death. Mark was awestruck at seeing her now, the media always made her seem as tall as her achievements, but with seeing the hero in person Mark couldn't believe she was only 5'4", with him being taller at 5'9". The taller of the two took a step forward, thinking she'd probably help him out through this mess. Tracer suddenly trained her twin guns on him, hearing his footstep, but lowered them with a confused look when she saw his civilian clothes. She opened her mouth to say something, but a rifle shot distracted her from making the words. Mark could see it happen, Tracer turned slowly, facing the noise as a single long ranged projectile raced towards her chest, Mark took a painfully slow step forward, his perception of time dragging it out. He'd never make it at this pace, even with Tracer throwing herself to the side the bullet would hit, piercing her lung at worst, kidney at best. Mark cursed mentally, his breathing becoming faster, his muscles tensed, strained, his eyes forced shut, focusing, and then in a second, lightning tackled Tracer out of the path of the bullet.

They landed in the hallway across from the one Mark had come from, out of the way of the sniper, with Tracer on top of Mark, and Mark laying not so comfortably on the dirty tiled ground. He had taken the blunt of the impact when they fell, the wind knocked out of him, but Tracer was the one that had to readjust to being moved in a split second. She gasped, sitting up and looking around with wide eyes, not yet noticing the man she was laying on top of, not that Mark minded, he was just content laying there for a while. His muscles ached, tendons screamed, and overall his body was not happy, moving high volumes in an inhuman amount of time did that. Tracer looked behind her, at the hall Mark had come from, scorch marks decorating some of the wall, something about physics and the energy created from Mark moving a whole lot in not a whole lot of time always lit his surroundings in electricity. She glanced back at him, noticing she was straddling her rescuer, and that he smelt of fresh cut timber and mint. Mark groaned when she phased off of him, standing over the man with a worried expression. "What just happened? Luv, are you all right?" She offered a hand, her guns previously holstered. Mark took it with a grunt, rolling to his feet slowly. "m'fine, and what happened?" Mark started, pausing to catch his breath as he stared at her with a grin. "Well that was the cavalry arriving."

It took Tracer a second to catch on, she tried her hardest to keep a straight face, it didn't work well as she fought a sudden fit of giggles. Mark couldn't help but chuckle himself, her cute laughter infectious. Lena suddenly pushed him out of the way, her weapon suddenly in hand as she fired off a clip, Mark traced her line of fire to see a blue skinned woman with a sniper rifle on the roof across from them. The WidowMaker dove out of the way of Tracers neon blue bullets, ducking out of sight to relocate. Tracer quickly turned to Mark with a smile that screamed "Trust me," and grabbed his hand, her chronal accelerator glowing brighter as she blinked forward, dragging Mark along with her. They covered a lot of ground that way, snaking through corridors and unfinished rooms to lose the assassin tailing them. Every so often Mark would pull her into a different direction leading her away from dead ends and kill points, having memorized the layout with his countless hours working here. He'd always explain with a simple "Nope." or "That leads to Detroit, I hate Detroit" and once "That leads to a dead end, as in we'd be dead." Tracer would always stifle a laugh and respond with an "Ok, thanks luv!" sounding enthusiastic enough to make Mark think maybe they weren't being chased by a deadly sniper. With the edge of the site in sight, the male of the pair pulled the female into a smaller room as WidowMaker passed overhead, having not seen the two hide. Mark sighed, placing a hand on his chest as a joke to his rapidly beating heart, Tracer took a step back from him, even though in the tight space a step wasn't much.

"Sorry, this is supposed to be a janitors closet, should have picked the executive suite." He nervously quipped.

"Quite alright luv," Tracer said glancing out the empty door frame. "We'll just give her a minute to pass 'round then I'll get you out of here in a jiffy!"

Mark gave her a frown, before realizing that he was a civilian to her, not a trained operative. He was about to say something when she cut him off, holding out a slender hand. "I'm Tracer by the way."

He smiled as he took it, shaking it gently. "Mark, pleasure to meet you." Was his honest reply. She withdrew her hand after a firm few seconds of shaking, her trademark smile on her face, matching his. Mark shrugged, gathering the courage to make small talk with the far more accomplished person. "So is this another Overwatch thing, or?" As soon as the question left his mouth Tracer lit up, happily regaling him of the recall and everything else that lead up to this. Apparently Talon was holding hostages not too far from here, and after the new OW team rescued them they lead the mercenaries here to less risk the public. Mark mentally kicked himself, he'd have heard all about the attack had he turned on his radio this morning. "Huh about time you all came back into action." Mark simply said, shuffling pass her to peek outside. Tracer didn't say anything, but he would bet that she was smiling behind him,

"Think it's clear, you ready to go?"

"Ready and waiting."

"Great, my car is on the other side of the fence, that's where I need to be."

Tracer promised that she'd get him there safely, and Mark told her he believed her in a witty response. A second later and they were both running towards the barbed wire fence, Mark leading and Tracer just a bit behind, guns raised at any sight of trouble. The duo hadn't forgotten about WidowMaker, both hoping the assassin had moved on to the main battle, or left all together. Mark hoped for the last one the most, snipers irked him, the way how they always appeared at the wrong time, turning bad situations to worse. Every so often Tracers comm unit would go off, and she would ignore it unless it was directly for her, which was the case with one gruff voice "Tracer, where are you?" Tracer let out and annoyed whine, running faster until she was shoulder to shoulder to Mark. "Just escorting a civie out of harms way luv, be back ASAP." She pronounced ASAP by the letter, stressing the P.

"A civilian? I thought this site wasn't active. Damn it." Came the gruff voice again.

Tracer was about to respond, with Mark hoped and assumed was "Oh, don't worry 'bout it, Mark here is actually a really lovely guy" but he ended up cutting her off by speaking first. "I'm the only one here, and the one day I get to work early, too." He joked, causing the voice on the other end to grunt, bullet fire making the comm line sound like it was filled of static. Mark and Tracer made it to the high security fence in record time, the male already finding the keys to the gate, mumbling insults to keys everywhere. He found the one that fit after a second slipping through the several items on his key ring, the sounds of far battle reaching his ears. The steel gate slid opened with a rattle, revealing Marks white car parked on the curb. Tracer gasped at the older than both of them combined car. "It's got wheels!" She said in awe as Mark slid across the hood, dukes of hazard style, confused at her wonder. Lena leaned over, admiring the round rubber objects keeping the vehicle off the ground. "Yeah, they're pretty cool I guess." He drawled, curious to why she was hyped about tires when flying cars where a thing. Mark shrugged that train of thought to the side as he popped open the trunk, startling Tracer with the sudden noise. "Uh, aren't you going to get in the car and drive off to safety, luv?" Her question was laced with worry, every second out here was another risk. "Nope." Mark replied nonchalantly, shoving his tool box over and exposing the secret component. "Not doing that." His assault rifle was a beautiful sight, gun metal grey with black and silver highlights. Gingerly he pulled out out, unfolding the stock from the main body of the SCAR-H like gun, the 25 round clip sliding into the well with a crisp click. Mark hoisted the gun into the air as he pulled back the bolt, feeding the bullets into the chamber, and showing Tracer his toy. "Wherever did you get that!?" She practically shouted, slightly taken back from the sudden appearance as the Overwatch issued gun. The gun owner slapped on an angled grip and a holo-sight, peering through the scope to check its alignment. Satisfied, he lowered the weapon and fished out spare mags, storing 3 of them in his jean pockets. The last item in the storage space was a medium sized phone-like device. The type that all OW agents were given, it had been rotting in the compartment for a long time, taunting Mark with its reminder to what could have been, but now it was a window to something new. Mark snatched it and turned it on, holding the screen to Tracer to see. It quietly displayed the Overwatch symbol before a notification took a hold of the screen.

" _RECALLED, Y / N?"_

Tracer sucked in a sharp breath of surprised air, staring at Marks large smile when he thumbed the _Y_ key without hesitation.

"You were an agent, oh my gosh." She quickly said, almost too fast for Mark to understand.

"Only for like, a week, I wasn't some high achiever like you." Mark explained, stressing his compliment.

He was caught completely off guard when Tracer pulled him in for a fast hug, holding his shoulders when they parted. "That doesn't matter, Mark luv, this is so great!"

She was almost jumping up and down, excited that the rising rebirth of Overwatch got itself a new member. Mark smiled and nodded, captivated by the cute hero in front of him. Tracer accomplished so much in her career, yet she was so emotional over a stranger? It made him feel warm and tingly. Mark thanked her before gesturing towards the open gate leading back to the skirmish. "Race you?"

"Is that a challenge?"

Mark gave her a playful look and Tracer blinked away, blue trailing behind her like a tail. The rifle holder chuckled before sprinting after her.

 _ **Thanks for reading, please feel free to leave a review, be warned though, I tend to reply late and inconsistently as my current schedule is a mess.**_


	3. Quick Update End of Hiatus

Hey Everyone! Sorry for the hiatus...Y'know, insert every authors excuse here. Simply put I was busy doing stuff and things, not that's not what I wanted to talk about here. Blizzard released that new Overwatch comic, which was great. Pretty sure Torb cant tell the difference between turret and child, so he just mass produces both.

but, so you're just reading this because you're wondering where the damn story is. Welp. Since Tracer is gay I've had to make some decisions about the story and how I wanted the plot to work now that I had to scrap a few story arcs. Otherwise the Tumblr SJW's are going to be on my ass again. No biggie, it'll just take a tad bit longer to write the next chapter since I had to delete the whole thing, and now have to start from scratch. Sorry for the inconvenience, but quality over quantity, right?

I'm going to try to finish it within 2 days, if not it may take up to a week because of work. Thanks for bothering to read this!


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